For a friend building a harpsichord

Contained within a frame of molecules and atoms, the sounds that once were wind and gently falling rain from branches deep within the night woods, is the thing intangible as thought. Captured within this frame of wood, rain, wind and earth, captured and released again by a fugue of Bach or Handel are the sounds of small creatures that moved with the quickness of life and sang. The song is here, called back when flesh and wood and ivory meld, transmuting sound to joy.

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